


Mad World

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, HYDRA Trash Party, Pietro Maximoff Feels, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-28 04:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The twins signed up for this. You didn't.





	1. "All around me are familiar faces..."

**Author's Note:**

>         Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Mad World. This is an idea that sort of just smacked me in the face when I was supposed to be sleeping, but that's when the greatest ideas come in, right? The story's going to follow the Age of Ultron storyline, but I have some world building to do at first. The titles and chapter headings have been taken from "Mad World" by Imagine Dragons, by the way. Please give a kudo or a comment if you like it! I'd love to hear any ideas or feedback you might have.
> 
> Translations (Slovak to English):
> 
> -malý vlk: little wolf  
>  -kretén: moron

_**Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia** _

        Baron Wolfgang von Strucker was a patient man. This was known by his superiors and inferiors alike; he was willing to wait and work hard for his final product, and this steadfast work ethic was what moved him up the ranks in HYDRA within three years, moving from a lowly member of the experimental science division to a true head.

        One thing that the employees of HYDRA didn't know, however, was that Strucker also had the temper of an angry bear. Said temper was well hidden by a calm face and a constant reminder of his training, but it was very much present. And when it came out, bad things happened.

        As Strucker sat at his desk in the hidden rooms of the base, pen scratching away at a piece of paper, he felt anger steadily rising to the surface. It filled him like molten lava, just  _begging_ for release. He needed someone to take it out on, this rage, so that it didn't come out in front of any of his superiors.

        Doctor List, of course, was not a superior. Therefore, he didn't have to worry about getting into trouble with the other heads for shouting him down or making sure he knew that Strucker was unhappy.

        " _LIST!"_  Strucker bellowed, his voice ringing off of the stone walls of the lab. A few assistants winced or averted their gazes, trying to avoid the wrath that wasn't intended for them.

        List came rushing down the stairs almost immediately. He was instantly recognizable by his hooked nose and immaculate suit, but the look of apprehension of his face was certainly a new feature. Strucker smirked inwardly; it took this sort of reaction to get him feeling topside again. 

        "Herr Strucker?" List asked, straightening his posture as much as he could. "How may I help you?"        

        "I want to know," Strucker replied in a dangerously quiet voice, "why you have gotten no legitimate results from your tests. Have we not provided you with all materials needed? Is your workplace not clean enough for your liking? Are your assistants lacking in intelligence? Please, tell me and I can certainly find a way to make it right."

        "Herr Strucker, I don't understand. I have all the materials and resources needed to carry out the experiments. My assistants are the cream of the crop and couldn't be more helpful."        

        List immediately knew he had made a mistake. Strucker's facial expression morphed into an ugly snarl. He pushed his chair away from the table with a  _screech_ and strode over to where the other scientist stood, footsteps echoing and causing the others to fall silent.

        "Then why, may I ask, do I not already have results? Why are you lounging about while the rest of HYDRA moves forwards? Progress is what keeps you alive, _List_ , and I trust you know that. Do you think my branch of HYDRA is less than the rest of our organization? If you have any  _complaints,_ I would like to know."

        "I have no complaints," List stuttered. "My team and I are working as fast as we can to harness the power of the tesseract. I swear on my life, Herr Strucker, I am doing the best that I can."

        "Do better. I will not hesitate to replace you should the need arise, List. Don't doubt that. If I say the word, if I give permission, you will be out of the ranks of HYDRA faster than you could blink. And we don't believe in 'letting people go' as you should know."

        "Of course, Herr Strucker. I'll alert my team to accelerate the testing."

        "Good. I want a report on my desk by noon tomorrow." Strucker paused, a devilish look washing over his pale eyes. "Speaking of the testing, how is the subject?"

        "She refuses to comply with any of our experiments and has attempted to fight off my team multiple times. I've had to tie her down and put a temporary pause on testing because she almost bit my finger off when I tried to plug her mouth up with a washtowel."

        "A _washtowel_?" He scoffed. "We are HYDRA, List. You can do better than that."

        "Of course. I just... didn't want to damage the goods."

        "Damaged goods come cheaper to the buyer, my friend, and I happen to be the buyer. I don't like spending money, so you have my express permission to do whatever you need to do to restrain her and enhance her the way I want. I need her to be compliant for this to work."

        "Yes, Herr Strucker." List hesitated, like he wanted to say something else but didn't know if he would be overstepping his bounds. Strucker noticed.

        "Go ahead, List. You have something to ask? A request, perhaps?"

        "Er... yes. I've been observing the way the tesseract reacts with human cells, how it bonds and modifies over our last few volunteers. All but one are dead."

        "Bury them deep or throw them into a river," Strucker said dismissively. "Make sure they can't be identified. I don't care about a few dead Sokovians."

        "That's not what I mean, although we'll definitely dispose of them properly. I would like permission to send a team into the city and begin to recruit civilians to our cause. Get volunteers. The subjects we have right now are dying off faster than I can replace them. I've already lost six to the tesseract, and if I don't get more soon, I won't be able to continue."

        "You have your permission. Just get the tesseract bonded and get me some enhanced people as quickly as possible. Until I have what I want, your position in HYDRA remains perilous. Trust that I won't hesitate to release you."

        "Of course. Thank you, Herr Strucker."

        List turned to leave, and for a minute, it looked like Strucker was going to let him. But before the man could disappear from view, his superior held up a hand. A cruel smile curved over his lips as List stopped short, stiffening from his ankles up to the nape of his neck.

        "Oh, and Doctor List, I thought you should know."

        "Yes?"

        "I'll be paying a visit to your labs later today, just to make sure you're not wasting my time. Make sure you have our  _malý vlk_ prepped. I've heard quite a bit about her, and suffice it to say I would like to meet the subject of whispers and veiled glances. Is that clear?"

        List took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, his face paling ever so slightly. He didn't want Strucker down in his labs, didn't want this demon of a man to have any more access to what he was doing, to  _control_ him. But the alternative... it was worse. So much worse.

        "Of course, Herr Strucker."

 ⍦ ⍦ ⍦ 

_**Novi Grad, Sokovia** _

        Pietro wasn't  ready for the glare on his sister's face when he finally returned home, sporting a bruise under one eye and carrying a pair of reusable grocery bags in each hand as he struggled to open the door. Truth be told, he was never ready for a glare on his sister's face. Wanda was a truly terrifying person despite her petite stature; she was intimidating and knew how to keep her older brother in line when it was needed.

        Pietro couldn't figure out for the life of him how she always knew when he was coming home. He  _honestly_ had no idea. But every time he was late after working- or maybe vandalizing public property, but who cares about the details- there she was, waiting for him in the cramped entry hall.

        This time, as Pietro stood there and stared at the doorknob, trying to figure out how to get it open without alerting Wanda to his presence, she simply opened it and beckoned him inside. He groaned inwardly and stepped through the doorway.

        "Pietro."

        "Sorry, Wanda."

        He set the bags down with a heavy  _thud_ on the kitchen table, allowing a few cans of red spray paint to roll out of the corner of one. They're empty, of course. His afternoon hadn't been wasted.

        "Piet,  _you didn't._ "

        "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It was just a little bit of graffiti over the iron legion posters. I didn't get caught, I swear."  Pietro winced inwardly; that wasn't the whole truth. His afternoon had been... quite busy, to say the least. 

        Apparently, it wasn't as inward as he had hoped. Wanda caught his little twitch and her eyes narrowed, smoky green darkening to a jade color in the awful lighting of the Maximoff apartment.

        "You were at the protests again, weren't you?" She asked, exasperated.

        " _Wanda-_ "

        "Answer me, Piet."

        "I was. But if you would just listen-"

        "You're not supposed to go without me. You get in trouble with the law for throwing things or starting fights or yelling at the police. You  _know_ that."

        "Yes, yes. I know, Wanda. I'm sorry. I didn't get in any fights today, I promise."

        "Then why is there a bruise on your cheek?" Wanda asked. Her tone was tinged with suspicion and anger, but an undertone of worry soaked through. 

        "Some  _kretén_ threw a bottle without looking. It was metal."

        She sighed and shook her head, trying not to smile at the abashed expression on his face. Wordlessly, Wanda grabbed a packet of frozen peas out of the beat-up fridge and handed it over to Pietro. He took it and pressed it to the bruise on his cheekbone, which had changed from reddish-purple to green with yellow tinging the edges. 

        "Thank you."

        Wanda shook her head and said, "I am here to make sure you don't get yourself shot, Piet. Sit down. I'll unpack the groceries."

        Pietro knew better than to argue with his sister when she was angry, so he crossed the small room and sprawled out on the pullout bed. The sheets were threadbare and dirty underneath his hands and the pillows had lost most of their stuffing early on in their life, but it was what they had. The twins had learned to make do.

        Their apartment was a small one, even for the poor standards of Novi Grad. The walls were an ugly yellow color, marred by streaks of color and chipped paint. Three rooms held the bulk of their belongings: a small living room that doubled as their bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. There wasn't enough room for a real bed, let alone one for each sibling, so they slept on a pullout couch and folded it back in during the day to make room for their comings and goings. A sparse bookshelf that held anything  _but_ books decorated the wall across from the bed, its shelves decked out with chipped dishes and photographs. The kitchen consisted of a fridge that looked like it had seen the stone age, a gas stove that barely even ran, a stained sink, and a row of cabinets for dishes and food. The bathroom... well, that was an embarassment to the plumbing industry.

        Pietro knew he was doing as well as he could, and so was Wanda. They both worked full days, he in one of the market stalls and she in a small bakery near the bridge. Neither of the jobs was enough to pay for the bare necessities, but that was true with nearly every citizen of Sokovia. Very few people had steady lifestyles. 

        Wanda neatly stacked cans of vegetables and fruits in the cabinet, making sure each was perfectly aligned with the others before taking a pot out from under the sink and filling it with water. She placed it on the stove, flames leaping up with a  _fwoosh_ as she poured the contents of a box of pasta into the water.

        "Do noodles sound good?" She asked, her tone of voice showing that she didn't actually care what Pietro thought.

        He nodded meekly, wincing as the coarse plastic scraped up against his bruise. Wanda snorted at the look on his face.

        "Serves you right for going without me. You keep getting into trouble, you're going to get shot. I won't be there to stop the police every time, you know."

        "I know. The American troops have no business being here, anyways. This isn't their soil."

        Wanda sighed. "I don't disagree with you, brother. I just... you need to be more careful. You can't just walk around with empty cans of spray paint in your grocery bags. They find out, they can take you in for vandalism. And then I'll be left alone."

        "Jail can't be that bad. Free food."

        "I can't pay your bail money," she argued. "We can barely pay the rent, and that's with the both of us working together."

        "I won't get caught, then. I'll be more careful, Wanda, I swear."

        "You'd better. Now give me that bag, you absolute-"

        Wanda was cut off by a succession of knocks on their door. One loud rap, two quicker ones, and a  _thud._  A few flakes of chipped paint drifted down to settle on the dirty hardwood floors, building up with fallen comrades like miniature snowdrifts.

        The two siblings turned to stare at each other, eyes wide and nervous. Pietro could feel his muscles coiling up like springs and readying himself for an attack. 

        " _The law?"_  Wanda whispered, slowly stepping around the counter. 

        " _I don't know. Stay here."_

She nodded and crouched behind the bed, watching as Pietro stalked across the room. His beat-up sneakers shuffled against the linoleum floors of the kitchen. He reached out, his hand curling around the door before he threw it open.

        The man who stood there definitely wasn't law enforcement, even though he looked just about as official as one could. The American soldiers who occupied Novi Grad were always clad in defensive gear and armed with multiple weapons, but their visitor wore a simple pair of slacks, a suit-jacket, a crisp button-up shirt, and a pair of shoes that looked like they were meant for church instead of walking around in the slums. Nobody in Novi Grad owned that kind of clothing.

        "Mr. Maximoff, I presume?" The man asked in a silky voice.

        Pietro narrowed his eyes. "Who's asking?"

        "You are a smart young man. We need more people like that. Mr. Maximoff, my name is Doctor List. I work for an organization that is working towards helping you free your people from occupation by the American troops, and I think you and your sister are the right people for this job."

        He felt his blood run cold. "I have no sister."

        "We know that isn't true. Miss Maximoff, I can see you behind the bed."

        " _Leave her alone and get the hell out of this building,_ " Pietro hissed vehemently, " _or I'll call the police."_

"But the police are part of your issue, are they not? I am, as the young people say it,  _calling your bluff_."

        "Tell me what you want and get out."

        List smirked and nodded,  his dark eyes shining with something between greed and malice. The combination made Pietro shiver.

        "I want you to join us in freeing the people of Sokovia. If you're interested, meet our correspondent at the abandoned tenemant in the working district at dusk, three days from now. You'll be given any information you ask for then. Good day, Maximoffs. I hope you consider my offer."

        And with that, List tipped his head and walked away. Pietro watched with a scowl on his face until he turned the corner and disappeared, then slammed the door as hard as he could.

        "Piet... I don't understand," Wanda said, her voice wavery from nerves.

        Pietro stared at the door for a few minutes as if he thought List would come back and mess around with them again. When nothing happened, he turned around and shook his head.

        "Neither do I."

 ⍦ ⍦ ⍦ 

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        _It was dark. Dark, dark, dark, dark._

_Or maybe there was just nothing to see. That happened sometimes, where everything was simply a void. Night stretched out in all directions, a starless sky hanging overhead._

_Wait._

_No, that's not right._

_Your eyes were closed._

But when you tried to open them again, everything was too bright. Spears of white light, piercing your mind like spears. Burning hot, knives stabbing your brain  _over_ and  _over_ again. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't force yourself to face the world.

        There was no escape. Only pain, pain, pain. Everything hurt, from the tips of your toes to your chest to your ears.  _Everything hurt._

        You could hear someone wailing in the distance. They sounded like they were in pain, just like you. A dying sort of wail, that of a person who knows they're leaving the world and doesn't want to comply. Fights.

        Fighting was futile. There was no use in moving, or screaming, or trying to escape from your captors. All you could do was lie there, bare skin against cold metal, fading into the abyss of your mind.

        You were dying, you  _knew_ it. Sure, on regular days, the pain was awful. But today, it felt like your soul was literally being ripped from your body. A low moan slipped past your parched lips, but it did you no good. Nothing could stop them.

The wailing was what bothered you the most. It just wouldn't stop, the pitch lowering and arcing back up to a shriek before lowering again and repeating the cycle. You wanted to push yourself off of that table just so you could tell whoever it was to  _shut up already_ and let you die in peace.

        It took a long time for you to realize that the wailing was yours.


	2. "Worn out faces, worn out places..."

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

The lower levels of Strucker's base of operations were not pleasant, that was a given. The smell of mildew mixed in with the rotting stench of the dead and a sharp antiseptic only contributed to the chill that infiltrated one's system when one made their way down the stairs and into the underground.

        That's why Strucker made it his goal to keep to the upper levels, where his mechanics lab and living quarters were situated. List could stay underground like the worm he was, doing the dirty work where it was needed and reporting back to his superior. Strucker, while he was a brilliant man, knew he wasn't as gifted in the field of bioengineering as his employee was. It was best to just leave him to it.

        But there were always times where he had to go down and make sure List wasn't just wasting time and resources. HYDRA was limited in both regards, with the people of Sokovia getting angrier and angrier. An uprising was on the way, and with uprisings came war. They needed to be ready.

        And that's why Strucker found himself making his way down the long set of stone stairs two at a time, his boots scuffing against the hard surface. Two men followed in his wake, clipboards and pens in hand, ready to take note of everything Strucker told them to.

        List met him at the doorway into the human experimentationwing, a key ring hooked on his index finger. He beckoned for the three men to come in, closing the door behind them and carefully locking it. HYDRA was a well guarded secret, and the human experimentation division was even more secretive.

        The door led into a long hallway, narrow and lined by canvas curtains. Strucker looked them up and down appraisingly before kicking one aside to expose several bulky forms, each covered by an old sheet.

        "The dead," List explained. "I haven't been able to spare the manpower to move them yet."

        "I want them gone as soon as possible. Bury them so deep their ghosts can't find them."

        "Of course. Would you like to see our analysis labs, the cells, or the experimentation lab first?"

        "Experimentation. I'll send a team down to do a routine maintenance check later."

        "Yes, Herr Strucker."

        List turned and walked down the hallway. In the dim industrial lighting, his lab coat looked more yellow than white. Strucker motioned for his two assistants to follow close behind him. He didn't have to look to know that they were at his heels; every one of his workers had been handpicked for their obedience. Most of them were absolutely terrified of him.

        The labs on the lower levels looked almost exactly like those on the topside, except for one main difference: topside labs were dedicated to mechanics and analysis, while the lower labs were used only for experimentation.  _Illegal_ experimentation, namely, which was why it was located underground. Nobody would ever suspect a thing. The hidden wall within Strucker's main lab made sure of that.

        The main lab was large, larger than he had expected. List's staff was also much more extensive, maybe even more than his. Men in white lab coats rushed this way and that, some carrying syringes and others hefting clipboards or boxes of medical equipment under their arms. Microscopes and various devices were scattered across the tables, accompanied by half-empty ink pens and loose sheets of paper.

        The main attraction by far, however, was probably the large metal table in the center of the room and the young woman who was strapped to it. Arms and legs held down by thick metal cuffs, a sheet covering her body, she kept glancing around with wide eyes. Taking everything in.  _Horrified_ at the thought of what was going to happen to her.

        Strucker smirked and strode across the room. He ignored the way everyone stopped to stare at him, not looking away from the girl. His  _malý vlk._

        At first, she didn't seem to see him. Her mind was too preoccupied with trying to figure out what she needed to do next to escape. But once Strucker stepped around the last table and into her range of sight, her expression twisted from vulnerability into a wicked sneer. 

        " _Tak si ty človek, ktorý ma vzal?_ " 

        ' _So you're the man who's done this to me?'_

Strucker's eyes widened in surprise, but his smirk didn't waver. "She doesn't speak english?" He asked List, who stepped out from behind a research table.

        "We don't know if she  _doesn't_ or if she  _won't._  She's stubborn."

        "So I've heard. You're sure she doesn't speak english? She seems to understand what we're saying."

        It was true, the woman was carefully following their conversation with a pair of  _(e/c)_ eyes that practically _sparkled_ with intelligence. The way her attention flicked back and forth between Strucker and List showed that she did, in fact, understand a bit of what they were saying. When they both turned to look at her, her sneer widened into something that would have been considered predatory if she wasn't the one strapped to a table.

        Strucker met her gaze with steely eyes and moved closer, leaning down so that his face was barely an inch from hers. The fear that he had been expecting to see was all but absent; instead, she gathered up a wad of saliva and spat it straight at his eye. It hit the monocle, but the damage was done.

        " _Môžete ísť do pekla._ "

         _'You can go to hell.'_

Strucker raised an eyebrow, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully wiping the spit from his monocle. The girl stared up at him defiantly, already working up another glob to make sure he knew she wouldn't do what he said, no matter what he tried.

        All the man did was turn around and beckon for one of the scientists forward.

        "Do you speak sokovian, by any chance?" He asked silkily. "I would love a translater."

        "Yes, Herr Strucker," the scientist stammered nervously. 

        "Good, good. You are fluent?"

        "Yes, Herr Strucker."        

        "How  _marvelous._ I would love to know what our little guest is saying. If you would please explain it to me, that would be greatly appreciated."

        "Of course, Herr Strucker."

        "Go ahead. Just the last one, please."

        "Er... she said _you can go to hell..."_

        "Really? Well, that's quite interesting. Take a note, List."

        The room was suddenly filled with the sound of pens scratching on paper as frantic scientists catered to Strucker's every whim. 

        "And you can translate english into sokovian, as well?"

        "Y-yes."

        "Oh, this is simply  _wonderful_ , my friend. You'll be promoted shortly. I want you by my side at all times."

        The man's eyes widened. "Thank you, sir!"

        "Good, good. Now, if you would carry a message to our  _malý vlk_ , I would appreciate it greatly."

        "Of course."

        "Tell her I simply can't  _wait_ to hear her scream. To find out what makes her tick. And that I won't stop until she breaks and gives us what we want."

        The scientist relayed the message in sokovian, but it was obvious that he needn't have bothered. From the look on her face, she understood every word of what he said. Fear was difficult to discern from hate in a trapped animal's eyes, but Strucker had been hunting enough to learn how to differentiate. And this woman was definitely a trapped animal.

        " _Nebudete."_

_'You won't."_

The man translated her sentiment with ease,  expecting an explosion of anger from his employer. Strucker merely smiled, turned around, and began to walk away. One last sentence trailed over his shoulder, just in time for it to reach the girl's ear.

        "Hope is a slippery thing, much like a wet bar of soap. Don't bother holding on to it,  _malý vlk."_  

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Novi Grad, Sokovia_ **

        The market, as usual, was bustling with people of every shape and size. Children scampered under the feet of their parents, kicking up rubble from the streets beneath their feet as they skidded around. Women exchanged the latest gossip in the stalls, their dark winter coats and knit hats fitting in with their surroundings perfectly. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Dogs barked. Children laughed.

        Pietro, the idiot he was, didn't pay any attention. It was only once Zrinka, who had probably been standing there for five minutes already, reached out and prodded him in the arm that he managed to snap out of it. With blonde hair, dark eyeliner, and a denim jacket, she looked almost exactly the same as she had the last time he'd seen her.

        "You are alright?" Zrinka asked, her voice tinged by the thick accent that was shared by the rest of the Sokovians. "Pietro? You are alright?"

        "Yes, sorry. I'm fine."

        The lie felt bitter as it slid off of Pietro's tongue. He wasn't okay; his mind was racing much too fast for him to be  _okay._ The conversation from the night before just kept coming back, Doctor List's smarmy voice becoming the only thing he could hear. He had heard it in his dreams the night before- scratch that, he hadn't even slept. The entire night had been spent pacing the apartment and checking doors and windows obsessively. Pietro was  _positive_ that somebody was going to come in and take them away.

        "Oh, good. You looked worried."

        "All good over here, Zee. Do not worry."

        Zrinka smiled. Her white teeth gleamed in the sunlight. Pietro tried to return it, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. He was too worried to actually show much emotion, because he knew the prevalent one would be fear.

        Fortunately, rescue came in his twin sister, who blew through the marketplace with a menacing air about her and jumped straight over the counter. Zrinka seemed to know that her conversation with Pietro was over, to her disappointment, and headed off into the marketplace with Costel gripping one hand and a loaded grocery bag in the other.

        Pietro breathed a sigh of relief, sagging against the counter and grinning at his sister. "Thanks for the save, Wanda."

        "No time for small talk," she said briskly. "You need to leave early. I'm taking you home."

        "I can't just clock out," he argued. "This is paying for the apartment!"

        "Your boss will just have to understand. This is more important."

        " _Wanda-"_

"Pietro." Wanda turned around, and Pietro was able to catch the cold light of fear in her eyes. It shut him up immediately. "We need to talk."

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Novi Grad, Sokovia_ **

        Wanda didn't mince words. She sat her brother down on the bed, plopped down beside him, and started to speak. And, of course, Pietro listened. His sister was a very mild-mannered person, and when she spoke about something important, he knew to pay attention.

        "This is about last night, right?" He asked.

        "Of course," Wanda scoffed. "What else would I talk about? I think we need to make a decision."

        "It's just some creep who thinks we're more gullible than we are, okay? Don't worry. We're going to be fine."

        "You can't just brush it off like that, Piet. He sounded official. And dangerous."

        "There wasn't an ultimatum. We can just check back in a few years and see if the offer still stands."

        She rolled her eyes, smacking Pietro in the bicep. "You cannot joke your way out of everything, brother. You have to be serious about this. We could get hurt."

        "It's a chance to save Sokovia, Wanda. I say we take it."

        "You must be joking."

        "Did you not just tell me not to joke anymore?"

        "Piet, didn't you hear what I just said? We could get hurt doing this."

        Pietro groaned and flopped back onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it close to his chest. "Sokovia is breaking apart. The people are starving and Americans constantly interfere with our affairs. We are going to be null and void within the decade if somebody doesn't step up and do something."

        "That doesn't mean somebody has to be us," Wanda said desperately. "Let somebody else take the fall for once, Pietro. Step back. You don't have to be the hero this time."

        "What if everybody thought like that?!"

        "There are other people in Novi Grad who can volunteer! Other protesters!"

        " _IT'S OUR JOB TO PROTECT OUR PEOPLE, WANDA! WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!"_

        Wanda flinched back, nearly falling to the floor in surprise. Pietro _never_ yelled at her, never raised his voice. He was never anything more than the great older brother she had come to look up to. He knew better, and from the stricken look on his face, he could tell that he had messed up big time.

        Wanda nodded, standing up and grabbing her backpack off of the counter. Pietro sighed and stood as well, carding a hand through his dark hair and dragging it down his face.

        "I am sorry, Wanda. I didn't mean to yell."

        "I know, Piet. The stress is getting to you, that's all."

        "I hope you're right..."

        "Trust me, I am." Wanda smiled and opened the front door. "I'm going to go get some fresh air. Think about it, yes? Maybe we'll have an answer when I get back."

        "Okay. Be-" The door closed. "safe..."

        It was only once Wanda knew she was saftely out of earshot of her brother that she allowed herself to cry.

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        The scepter was positively humming with unreleased power, blue light pulsating from its core. The scientists had been notified to give it a wide berth, not wanting to risk any injuries within their ranks. Of course, the Sokovian volunteers- and less willing participants- weren't in their ranks, so they were free game.

        You could hear them screaming from your cell, deep within the HYDRA base. Shrieks and moans bounced off of the stone walls, threatening to drive you insane. These were screams of people who were in total agony, and you knew you would be soon to join them.

        The woman who had occupied the cell adjacent to yours had been the first to die. She had straight black hair that fell to her waist, chocolatey eyes that made you think of a puppy dog, and the most gorgeous tan skin you had ever seen. Her name had been Daria. You had only known her for the three days she had occupied her cell, but you had been in HYDRA long enough to know that any chance at conversation needed to be taken. She had worked as a vetrinarian in a small town a few miles west of Novi Grad and had been abducted when she was walking home. Her younger sister would miss her.

        The next to go was Nichita, a nineteen-year-old boy from Moldova. He had only been a few years younger than you and had been a volunteer. You didn't hold it against him; people had to survive. Of course, it didn't work out well for the poor boy. His once-rosy cheeks had been chalk white when he was dragged out through the back door and thrown into an icy river as if he were garbage. You had reached through the bars of your cell, straining every muscle you could, and pressed two fingers to his limp palm. It was cold.

        That day, the usual pair of guards had entered the cell level. Each carried a list under one arm and walked up and down the halls, cataloguing their prisoners as if you were animals. You had screamed curses from your cell in sokovian and rattled the bars, trying to get them to take you instead of some other soul who had a life outside of HYDRA. You got the same results as you had the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Left alone in your cell to await death yet again.

        Three people had been taken: Dmitry, an elderly man from Russia; Hanna, red haired and spunky; and a girl named Sofia who couldn't have been a day over thirteen. You had leaned forwards and taken her hand as they were led through the halls, squeezing it reassuringly and telling her that everything was going to be okay, that she would make it through and that you would see her that night. You were lying. She would be just as dead as Nichita within three or four hours.

        The grown man in the cell across from yours started to sob.

        You flipped over on your cot and closed your eyes, trying to ignore him. You just couldn't catch a break.

_"Hope is a slippery thing, much like a wet bar of soap. Don't bother holding on to it, malý vlk."_

He said that as if he believed you had any hope left. No, you knew you were going to die in that base. Nobody would miss you.

        It was only a matter of time before you were dead and gone, nothing but dust on the wind.


	3. "Bright and early for their daily races..."

**_Novi Grad, Sokovia_ **

        It was raining the day Pietro and Wanda Maximoff made a decision that changed their lives. That's what he remembered: the foggy gloom that hung low over Sokovia as he snuck through the city with his sister in tow, drops of cold rain hitting his skin. They felt like needles, pricking him repeatedly. Pietro winced; he had never liked needles much.

        Wanda, however, seemed to revel in the gray haze. A complacent smile sat on her lips, which was unusual for the younger Maximoff twin. Ever since her parents had died, smiles had been harder and harder to come by.

        Pietro carefully wrapped his arm around Wanda's shoulders, pulling her into an old tenemant and closing the door carefully behind himself. Hinges squealed, and they both jumped at the sudden sound. The building had obviously been out of use for a long time, just like many of the other buildings in Sokovia. Parts of the city were in decline and this was certainly one of them.

        "You are sure you want to do this, Piet?" Wanda asked nervously. "This is... you are sure?"

        "I'm sure, Wanda," Pietro replied. He tried to put on calm airs, but was terrified that Wanda could see right through him. As the older brother, he constantly felt like it was his job to be the controlled one- emotionally, not physically, seeing as he was quite the jokester and didn't have much self control. "We are helping Sokovia, yes? We do what we must do for our country. Everything will be fine."

        "Promise?"

        "Of course."

        Wanda nodded, her chestnut waves bouncing in the dusky light that filtered through the streets and into the building. She pulled a flashlight out of her pocket and switched it on, combing her surroundings carefully. Every corner was empty and covered in dust, the room was void of anything except for the twins, and barely any light was able to make it into the tenemant.

        Pietro brushed a wave of dark curls out of his eyes and pulled his sister closer, peering around the room with squinted eyes. Of course, the two siblings were so focused on trying to find anyone  _inside_ the room that they didn't notice someone entering until he was directly behind them.

        "Mr. and Ms. Maximoff, I presume?"

        Wanda squeaked and turned around. Her fingernails dug into Pietro's forearm, and he hissed in pain, reaching down to pry her hand off of his skin. His heart was racing from the scare.

        The man standing in the dark room looked like the definition of a creep, to put it simply. Cold blue eyes, bald head, stubble lining his jaw, a strong nose that hooked down at the end, and to finish the look off, a black trench coat. 

        Pietro gave him a quick once over, his pale eyes gleaming in the low light. He pulled Wanda behind himself protectively, to the newcomer's amusement.

        "Don't worry," he said calmly, his voice affected by a slight accent. "I am not here to hurt either of you. You are the Maximoff twins?"

        "We are," Wanda said cautiously. "Who's asking?"

        "Ah, how rude of me. I've neglected to intruduce myself. I am Wolfgang von Strucker, one of the heads of the department you'll be working with." 

        Strucker held out one hand. Pietro grasped it, shaking firmly and raising an eyebrow.

        "Mr. Strucker, we do not know exactly what we're getting into here. You would not mind explaining it to us, would you?"

        "I can only tell you some of the details at the moment," Strucker replied. His smooth voice sent a shiver down Pietro's spine, but he tried to hide it. "Unless you confirmed your committment and came back with me, of course. Then you would be given all the information you needed. I trust you understand?"

        "Of course," Wanda said. 

        "Good. You seem reasonable, I appreciate that." He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I work for an organization dedicated to world peace, and as Sokovia happens to be a war torn country right now, we're operating in your area. We work with experimentation, assisting in...  _training_ people to fight for their countries and for our organization, should the need arise. We call ourselves HYDRA, and there happens to be a base only a few miles from here."

        "And you need us why? You sound pretty well prepared for anything the world throws at you," she snapped.

        " _Wanda,"_ Pietro muttered. "Listen to Strucker. Hear him out."

        "Thank you, Mr. Maximoff."

        "Pietro."

        "Pietro, then. And, to answer your question, Wanda-"

        " _Ms. Maximoff,_ please," Wanda said coolly.

        Pietro sighed, utterly exasperated with his stubborn younger sister. " _Wanda."_

        "Fine. Wanda, then."

        "Well, Wanda, we need people from your country to volunteer. There's been a significant lack of people from Sokovia who are interested in protecting their homeland, which I find disturbing. We need people like you to stand up and do what's right."

        Pietro sent a knowing look in Wanda's direction, seeing how her demeanor had changed. She had straightened up, brushed her hair out of her face, and was watching Strucker intently. The older man smirked.

        "I see I have caught your attention. Your interest seems... piqued, to say the least. May I ask why?"

        "If anyone has a reason to protect this country, it is us," Wanda growled. "Our parents are dead because of Tony Stark. We will do anything to avenge them."

        "I'm sorry for your loss." He didn't sound particularly sorry. "Does this mean you'll be joining us?"

        Wanda and Pietro met each other's eyes, sharing a mental conversation before turning back to Strucker and nodding in unison.

        "Marvelous."

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        They came for you in the middle of the night, when everybody else was asleep. You weren't, of course; even though you were younger than most of the other prisoners, you had been there longer and therefore took on the responsability of keeping a constant watch on everybody. When they took the bodies out at night, you took it upon yourself to keep track of who had made it through the night. The answer was always the same- nobody- but giving up hope would cause the others to lose hope as well, and some of them were  _children._

        You had been seated in the corner of your cell for the majority of the night, keeping a watchful eye out in the darkness for any movement that could signify a survivor.

        Everybody else was asleep. Snores emanated from a few of the other cells, making you thankful that your neighboring compartments were empty. You kicked yourself.

        They weren't empty, they were occupied by the ghosts of Daria and a middle-aged man who left behind a pair of daughters and his wife.

        You had just started to doze off against your better judgement- one could only go without sleep for so long- when the screeching sound of a door opening snapped you out of your sleepy daze. The industrial-style lights, glowing an awful greenish-white color, switched on and started to power up. You could hear people stirring all around the room, murmuring worriedly in their native languages and shifting around to get away from the doors. This had never happened before, HYDRA bothering you when you were trying to sleep. Nobody knew what to expect.

        A pair of guards, clad in all black and carrying large guns, stopped in front of your cell and took out an iron key ring. A jolt of fear ran through your body; just because you had been expecting for them to come and take you didn't mean you were  _ready._

        You scrambled to your feet and looked around frantically, trying to find an escape. There wasn't one, of course (you had already checked the cell over several times to no avail), and the guards were able to reach in and grab you by the forearm. 

        The man across from your cell, who had been crying earlier, hurtled to the cell doors and started to shake them profusely. Others joined in, all making a brave stand for you. You frantically shook your head and gestured for them to back up. Nothing was going to help you, and they would get hurt if they tried to do anything.

        " _Nedotýkajte sa ma! Nechaj ma, nechaj ma na pokoji!"_

_'Don't touch me! Let go of me, leave me alone!'_

One of the men, a larger one with thick black hair and a pair of pistols clipped to his belt, shoved you out of the cell and started to manhandle you out of the room. You screamed, fought, and cursed the entire time, shoving elbows into guts and kicking shins. In a comparison of stature, you barely stood a chance. Both guards were at least a foot taller than you and had pounds upon pounds of muscle. You wouldn't tip the scale at ninety pounds soaking wet, considering your malnourished state and lack of room for proper exercise.

        But you had one thing they didn't. Well, maybe it was more of a  _lack_ of something that they posessed.

        You didn't have anything to lose.

        So you fought like a demon, kicking and  _biting,_ scratching at every bit of bare skin you could find. Vaguely, you could hear the cheers and encouragements of the other prisoners ringing through the small spaces, egging you on.

        But in the end, there was really nothing you could do against a pair of armed men. One well-placed taser blow later- straight to the solar plexus- and you were being dragged through the halls of HYDRA, too disoriented to focus in on anything. One thought kept repeating itself over and over again in your head, first in your native language and then again in the broken english you had worked so hard to learn back in grade school.

        _"N_ _ie znova. Not again. Not... again."_

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Elm Roadway, Sokovia_ **

        They didn't bother packing. Strucker said everything that they needed would be provided and all they had to bring was themselves. Wanda had wanted to drop by the apartment one last time, just to make sure her affairs were in order, but Pietro managed to talk her out of it.

        Transportation came in the form of a camo-painted Jeep, which arrived at the edges of Sokovia in the middle of the night. Wanda narrowed her eyes and grabbed her brother by the arm, pulling herself closer to him and burrowing into her side as if she was bracing for an attack. Pietro, however much he wanted to help his country, had to admit that it looked pretty shady. The driver of the Jeep had what looked like a machine gun slung over one shoulder and Strucker, when he took his seat in the passenger side, seemed to be carrying several weapons on his person.

        " _Pietro..."_  Wanda murmured, squeezing up against him in the back seat of the vehicle.  _"I don't know about this."_

_"Don't worry. We're going to be fine, sestra."_

"You know, we really do appreciate your volunteering for our program, Pietro and Wanda. The lack of volunteers was starting to cause issues in our ranks. Unease, unrest... that sort of thing. I'm sure the two of you understand what low morale can do to people."

        Since Wanda didn't show any sign of replying, Pietro took it upon himself to hold conversation.

        "Of course, Mr. Strucker."        

        "Yes, Sokovia is certainly heading downhill. It's lucky to have people like you and your sister to step up and take the proverbial wheel."

        "I guess." Pietro hesitated, not knowing how far he should pry to figure out what was going to happen to himself and his sister. Strucker came across as a reasonable man. Pietro ignored the nagging reminder that many insane people came off as _reasonable_ at first, and it was when you started to suspect them that they showed who they really were.

        Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother's unwillingness to ask the tough questions and find out what needed to be learned. "Mr. Strucker, could you please give us more information? I want to know exactly what we're getting into."

        "But of course, Wanda," the older man purred. His voice sounded like silk, but the twins shivered nonetheless. There was something about Strucker that was almost  _definitely_ off, just like List.

        "You and your brother are to take part in a new program developed by HYDRA specifically to help with the plight of Sokovia. We call it the Enhancement Program, and its purpose is to create a new generation of enhanced individuals with the power to make the world a better place. It's an honor to be included."

        Wanda and Pietro stared at each other, eyes wide.

        "Enhancement?!"

        "Yes. In volunteering, you have officially signed up for a series of tests that, should they bond with your makeup, will give you powers beyond the scope of human imagination. Powers that will help you bring civilization into a new golden age."

        "You are going to...  _test..._ on us?" Wanda asked slowly, almost as if she was speaking to a small child.

        Strucker smiled. "Dear girl, I wouldn't call them tests. After all, the initial testing has already been done. This is more of the trial period. You'll know more later, when the information applies to your situation. But there is nothing completely unknown about our trials. You needn't worry."

        "Is there a chance that one of us could be hurt?" Pietro interjected. "These trials, they are dangerous, no?"

        "Of course. There will always be a risk in science."

        "We... we could die?"

        "The possibility will always be there, Pietro. But I swear to you that we'll do our level best to keep you safe. After all, you're doing this for your country! Sokovia needs you desperately, Maximoffs. Are you willing to take that chance to save hundreds of thousands of people?"

        There was something about the way Strucker worded things that made a flower of pride bloom in the siblings' chests. They were doing this for  _Sokovia._ They were going to make their parents proud and get revenge on Stark.

        "We're in."

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        In a drug-addled state of mind, all sorts of things could flow through one's brain. You were plagued by a constant barrage of harsh thoughts that wouldn't leave you alone. A steady stream of self-deprecation, really.

        One thing in specific consistently popped out at you from the river of words. The people who were lost, they left behind loved ones. People were going to miss them. Some of them were probably being looked for, or at the very least, being mourned.

        You weren't leaving a legacy behind. Nobody was going to miss or mourn you. The thought left an odd sense of contentment behind, like you had tied up all the loose ends that needed to be dealt with.

        Mrs. Mikhailov, the little Russian woman with an inoordinate amount of cats who lived in the apartment next to yours, wouldn't  _miss_ you. Sure, she would probably wonder what had happened to the young woman who had been her neighbor for upwards of six years, but it wouldn't keep her awake at night.

        The people who worked in the bakery wouldn't  _miss_ you. Their best customer would stop coming, and they would note the small divot in sales, but they would soon fill that gap and forget you had ever existed.

        Faintly, you could feel metal sliding beneath your body. It caught the cuffs of your ragged pants and pulled them up slightly, exposing your calves to cold air. You wanted to shiver, to fight against whatever was happening, but you couldn't  _move._

        And there it was: your saving grace. A spark of golden light that tore through the darkness of your brain and pulled you back into the world, sharpening your consciousness and giving you enough strength to finally open your eyes.

        You wished you could close them again.


	4. “Going nowhere, going nowhere...”

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        Pietro and Wanda noticed right away that the base was located in one of the last places they would have expected: the abandoned castle that had overlooked Novi Grad for as long as they could remember. There was only one problem- it  _definitely_ wasn't abandoned.

        In fact, the base was filled with activity. Men in white lab coats hurried back and forth between labs and locked doors, scribbling notes down on paper and shouting for their assistants to fetch them equipment. A smattering of black kevlar was mixed into the crowd, each guard carrying an automatic weapon over one shoulder and wearing a military-style helmet. Security guards... or something else.

        "Don't worry about them," Strucker said when he noticed how Pietro was scrutinizing the guards. "They're just precautionary measures. Not everybody agrees with our line of work."

        "For example? I would like to know the sort of people we're turning into enemies, Mr. Strucker."

        "But of course. I wouldn't expect anything different. The people who have been tearing your home to shreds,  Pietro, would do anything to try and stop us. They want the world to bow before their feet. HYDRA knows better than that."

        Understanding dawned in Wanda's eyes. "The Avengers, then? That is your enemy?"

        "I'm afraid so. Fear not, they can be easily dealt with."

        "It's not them I'm worried about."

        That shut Strucker up immediately. Pietro nudged his sister in the side, glaring at her reproachfully.  _Don't make enemies right now,_ his gaze said.  _These people are dangerous._

Wanda nodded and remained silent, but the distrustful look on her face clearly said that she didn't agree with that was going on.

        "I hope you'll understand that this isn't a five-star hotel. We had to repurpose several of the more... unsavoury rooms in the castle to make befrooms, so they aren't pleasant. And you won't be able to share."        

        "Mr. Strucker-"

        "Ah, ah, ah. You're not the one making the demands here, my dear girl. When you agreed to our rules, you signed yourself over to us. You're property of HYDRA now. We can do what we want with you."

        Pietro and Wanda turned to stare at each other with wide eyes, already looking for a way out. Sadly, Strucker seemed to have planned ahead. Every possible exit was barred by an armed man, and each man carried several weapons. There was no way out.

        "Now, Subjects 28 and 29, let's get you to your rooms and set everything up. I'm sure you'll find a lovely home in HYDRA."

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

_**Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia** _

         _"Zabijem ťa!  Zabijem vás všetkých!  Počuj, Strucker? Si_ mŕtvy _!"_

 _'I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you! Hear that, Strucker? You're_ dead!'

        Screams echoed throughout the underground levels, bouncing off of cold stone walls and into places where sound was not meant to reach. When the prisoners, still locked up in their cells, heard the definitive curses and threats that were mixed in, they couldn't help but smile.

        You were fighting back.

        Hell yeah, you were. There wasn't a single bone in your body that needed rescuing; you could freaking do it yourself. 

        And HYDRA was certainly figuring out that they weren't going to be able to take your spirit easily. From the second you had woken up on that metal table for the second time, limbs strapped down by leather cuffs, you had fought as if your life had depended on it. The haze of sedatives was still clogging your mind up and making it hard for you to move, but you didn't care. These psychopaths weren't taking you without a fight.

        When one of the scientists, a nervous-looking man with a bald spot the size of a grapefruit, tried to shove a gag into your mouth, you closed your teeth around his index finger and thumb, clenching down as hard as you could. He screamed and tried to pull away, but you only let go when you heard a satisfying  _crack._

Strucker backhanded you across the face. Your head snapped back and collided with the hard surface of the table, stunning you long enough for him to grab your jaw, force your mouth open, and stuff a wad of cloth between your teeth.

        You glared up at him indignantly, but nobody seemed very worried. Strucker simply smirked and ran a hand through your tangled hair, making you shudder violently.

        "Don't worry,  _malý vlk._ We'll be sure to take good care of you."

        Doctor List, in all his ashen glory, stepped behind Strucker and hesitantly poked his shoulder.

        "Herr Strucker, the scepter is ready whenever you are. She can be exposed now."

        "And the serum?"

        "Fully developed and prepared for use. We made some changes after observing what happened with the last subjects."

        "This one will be more operational?"

        "That is what we expect, Herr Strucker."

        "How nice." He turned to look down at you, something terrifyingly calm glinting in his eyes. "Hear that? You might actually live through this one,   _vlk_.

        You wanted to snap, to scream curses and tell him that if he was going to insult you and terrify you, he could at least use your real name. Would it be that much of an effort to call you  _(Y/N)_  instead of little wolf? You were positive that HYDRA knew your name; they hadn't just pulled some random person off of the streets. The employees of HYDRA always did their research.

        You knew that they would never use your name, though. To them, you weren't another human being- although you were almost complely sure that these men were monsters, not humans. You were something to be observed and experimented on, to improve. You couldn't have been  _less_ human in their eyes.

        But, of course, you couldn't say a thing. The wad of cloth between your teeth made it absolutely impossible to make any sound other than muffled complaints and, if you were lucky, a curse or two.

        When the needle came into view, sharp and glinting in the bright lights, you had to fight to keep your expression neutral. The last time they had brought you in and tied you down, it had been for a 'routine' examination. Strucker had needed to make sure you were in peak condition before he started his work.

        This wasn't routine.

        "Now, don't worry," Strucker said. He raised the needle up to one of the lamps and flicked it a few times, eliminating any air bubbles from the... why was it  _blue?!_ "You won't be awake for most of this, so you've got nothing to fear. Of course, most of the trouble will come when you're awake... but we'll worry about that later, yes?"

        You didn't reply. Even if your mouth was unobstructed, you didn't think you would have been able to without breaking down. You had seen the bodies when they were carried out only hours after death. They were all pale-faced and wide eyed, muscles tensed and their expressions contorted into ones of undeniable agony. That was going to be  _you_.

        List, who had been silent for nearly the entire exchange, seemed to gather up the courage to speak when he saw the terrified look on your face.

        "You needn't fret, Subject 13 _._  Like he said, you won't feel a thing until you wake up."

        " _If_ you wake up," Strucker cut in. 

        "Of course. It'll be fast and painless."

        You noticed one of the lab technicians moving closer, taking the syringe from Strucker's hand, shifting over to your bedside...  _reaching down to wipe off your neck with a small piece of cotton..._

        This was happening. This was actually happening. You were going to die, for real. This man was going to put something in your blood and you were going to die just like the other prisoners had. It was too soon. You had tried to tell yourself that it would be okay, that you would be ready when it came, but you had never felt so far from ready. Was this how they had felt? Nichita, Daria, Dmitry, Hanna, Sofia, and all the others? Had they been this afraid before an emotionless man with no conscience and a mile-wide crazy streak had stabbed them in the neck with a needle and left them to die like a bug under a microscope?

        Yes, you decided, they had been just like you. All of them. 

        There was nothing different about your case.

        With a pinch, the needle slid into your jugular vein. You tensed against the table, eyes wide and muscles straining, the unknown substance already coursing through your body.

        List and Strucker had been right. It was fast and painless, just like falling asleep.

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Novi Grad, Sokovia (Six weeks earlier)_ **

_Winter was the best time of the year, in your opinion. Sure, it's cold and you normally don't have warm enough clothes, and the flow of electricity to your apartment gets cut earlier than usual, but there's **snow** and that's what matters. You've always loved snow. The sensation of cold crystals brushing your hands, the picture it painted when falling from the sky to blanket the earth beneath... it was one of the few things that you, in your jaded mindset, have ever considered beautiful._

_You remember your grandmother- you called her Ami- telling you stories and making steaming mugs of hot chocolate with cinnamon mixed in. She always knew just how you needed it. The two of you, accompanied by your mother and father, would gather around the fire on especially cold days and just sit there, enjoying the feeling of being at peace._

_It all ended too early. Your Ami died of a stroke when you were nine years old. Your mother and father followed a year afterwards, both casualties of the bombings. With no siblings, aunts, uncles, or other relatives, you were left to fend for yourself. And you did a damn good job of it, too._

_Legally, people under the age of fifteen couldn't be employed in Sokovia. Nobody cared. What with the bombings and constant state of economic upheaval, the child labor laws were pushed by the wayside. The owners of a small bakery in downtown Novi Grad had no qualms about hiring an orphaned ten-year-old to help out at the counter and sweep up after shifts. By the time you were twelve, you were able to rent a small apartment in the slums. At thirteen, you had running water, and at fourteen, you were finally able to afford electricity. It wasn't surviving anymore, it was **living**. You were  **living.**_

_So, naturally, the universe had to come around and screw it up._

_You made it six more years. Six years of being happy and taking care of yourself, of recovering from the grief you had felt too early on in life._

_It happened on a Friday night. You had just walked home from work, a fresh loaf of warm bread held under one arm. Your boots crunched in the snow._

_They had been waiting for you to fall asleep. You still had no idea why, but it was so **sick**_ **.** _The minute you had turned off the lights, several people were practically on top of you. A rag covered your nose, soaked with some sort of chemical, and it was 'good night' almost immediately._

_You never stood a chance._

_When you had woken up, you had been strapped down to a table in the HYDRA labs with no idea what was going on or where you were. One of the other prisoners had explained everything to you, a kind woman in her thirties who had been there longer than everyone else. Her name had been Alma._

_Alma was dead._

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        Pietro and Wanda were split up some time between a debriefing and a checkup, much to their dismay. Wanda was dragged off, kicking and screaming, to another corner of the base while a pair of armed guards led Pietro into a lab and conducted a routine checkup.

        He sat there patiently for all of thirty minutes as a doctor drew blood and listened to his heartbeat, feet hanging over the edge as if he were a small child. It was clear to see that HYDRA wasn't what he had been told and any attempt at resistance would only end in punishment. He had to obey to keep Wanda safe, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

        The doctor wasn't an unkind man. He was civil and slightly cold, but there was no manhandling involved whatsoever. He just did his job and motioned for the guards to take his 'patient' away, muttering a few words in what sounded like German before allowing them to leave.

        Pietro was given a fresh pair of clothes to change into. Again, he didn't protest, taking them and changing in a bathroom. It felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind in his beat-up converse, jeans, and old winter coat. The tank top was too big and he was freezing, but the pants were fine. They didn't give him shoes. He hadn't expected them.

        The guards gave him five minutes to pull himself together before coming to get him. Each placed a hand on his arm and escorted him down several flights of stairs and into what looked like a cell compound.

        The number of people down in the blocks was surprising- and maybe a bit terrifying, because Pietro couldn't help but to think about how long HYDRA must have been recruiting. As he was led into the back of the large room, he counted fourteen people and over thirty cells, half of which were empty.

        Wanda was in the back of the room, already locked in a small cell that had been marked '28'. Pietro barely recognized her at first; she hadn't worn a dress since she was eight or nine years old, yet there she was in a knee-length number with ragged edges. She sat there on the floor, tear tracks visible on her cheeks, back pressed up against the wall. Other than a small bandage on her upper arm, Wanda seemed to be unharmed. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief. That was more than what he had been hoping for.

        The two cells to Wanda's left were both unoccupied. Pietro was hoping to be put in the one next to hers, or maybe even to be able to share, but there was no such luck. He was pulled over to the third cell, labeled with a bold '29' and shoved in. The door locked behind him and the guards left quickly and quietly, not a muttered word between them.

        Pietro stumbled over to the small cot in the corner and sat down, burying his head in his hands and stroking his fingers through his hair. He couldn't help but feel responsible, like it had been his fault. He had gotten Wanda into this mess... and he didn't know how to get her out.

        Wanda seemed to be able to understand what her brother was thinking. She staggered to her feet, reached through the front wall of bars, and snapped her fingers to get his attention.

        "Pietro, I know what your thinking, and I want you to stop right now. This isn't your fault."

        There was no reply. Not that she had been expecting one, of course. Pietro was always too hard on himself, even when it was something as trivial as scraped knees or papercuts. He was pretty much the picture of an overprotective older brother.

        "Listen to your sister, boy," the man across from across the aisle said in a gravelly, accented voice. "She's right. It's not your fault you're here."

        Pietro shook his head. "You don't understand, I pressured her into this."

        "That's a lie!" Wanda shouted indignantly.

        "It is  _not_ , it's because of me that you're stuck here!"

        "Petrokov's right." This voice came from a young man in the cell to Wanda's right. "You can't blame yourself. If you're talking about the volunteering, beating yourself up about it won't do any good. Trust us. At least half of us are volunteers."

        This time, Pietro looked up and gave the man- Petrokov- a small smile and a nod. Satisfied, Wanda sat down again on the floor of her cell. Crisis averted.

        "Before we start, I  gotta warn you that I'm no good at this. The welcoming, I mean."

        The twins shot confused glances at Petrokov, then each other. Had this man gone insane? What was he talking about?

        "Yeah, I know. You're confused. I get it, we all were at first. Someone's gotta talk ya' through it, though, because otherwise you're just gonna get thrown to the wolves. Least we can do is tell ya' what's goin' on."

        "We've been through a lot of welcomers," the younger man said. "Well, I've been here for one. Petrokov's met two of 'em."

        "First one died- dammit, that's not how I wanna start. Sorry, kids."

        "They  _died?!_ " Wanda asked, aghast. 

        Petrokov sighed slapped a palm to his forehead. "Damien..."

        "You two really don't wanna know. Trust me, you'll find out eventually," the boy- Damien- said. He was clearly an American, his voice thick with the accent Pietro and Wanda had come to hate. They just couldn't come to dislike Damien, though, for some reason. With his thick blond hair and blue eyes, he looked like some of the children who played around the bakery.

        "I'd rather find out from someone like you instead of HYDRA," Wanda said bluntly. "Please explain."

        "I'm not doing it, Petrokov," Damien muttered. He straightened his ragged t-shirt and slumped over on his bed, watching the proceeds with narrowed eyes. "You're the new welcomer, you do it."

        "Fine." Petrokov stroked his unkempt beard as he stood, all six feet of him towering above his surroundings. "Don't say I didn't warn ya', though. 

        "Our first welcomer was Daria; HYDRA called her 01. In her thirties or forties, had a twin sister back in Novi Grad. She was a vetrinarian. Apparently, she was the first one they took. Snatched 'er right off the streets. She learned the ropes quickly and took care of everybody else HYDRA brought in, makin' sure they knew the rules and how to avoid gettin' hurt. Made it all the way through to me, or 15. She died a little over five weeks ago.

        "The second was 13, or  _(Y/N)_. She was kidnapped three days before Daria died, made pretty good friends with everybody here. She's... she _was..._ kind of like the mother hen. Learned all of our names if she could, talked to us, told stories to the little ones before bed, sometimes even sang if someone like Sofia- she's dead, too- asked. Comforted anyone who was on their way out, told 'em it was gonna be okay."

        "And she died, too?" Pietro asked quietly. 

        "They took 'er last night. Scared everyone to death when she started screamin' and beatin' up on 'em. Fought her hardest, she did. She was a really great kid,  _(Y/N)_. Wish you two could'a met her. I have a feeling she would've done you some good in here.

        "So now I'm the welcomer, I guess," Petrokov shrugged. "Not as good as those two, but I don't have that kind'a touch."

        "But you haven't seen a body, right? You can't confirm a death?"

        "I wish that was how it went," Damien sighed. "But nobody ever comes back. It's better not to get your hopes up, buddy. Sorry, but that's the truth."

        "Damien's right. Hope's not a good thing in here, 29. Almost as dangerous as miracles."


	5. "Their tears are filling up their glasses..."

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

        Pietro was woken up in the middle of the night when the overhead lights switched on and a pair of heavy footsteps resounded through the room. He had fallen asleep less than an hour ago after spending roughly half the night trying to figure out what he needed to do to keep Wanda safe- and thinking of absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip.

        He wondered, for a moment, whether or not this was a normal procedure. It didn't seem to be, because the other prisoners began conversing in hushed tones and shooting fearful glances in the direction of the door. Petrokov and Damien both rocketed to their feet, eyeing a pair of approaching figures with glares of pure hate.

        Wanda didn't stand. She did the opposite, in fact, cowering behind the cot and gripping Damien's hand through the bars. Pietro was definitely thankful to see that his sister had someone to comfort her when he couldn't reach out.

        Petrokov met Pietro's eyes. He subtly shook his head and placed a finger over his mouth, warning Pietro to stay silent. Pietro nodded and sat up on his cot, pulling his knees up to his chest and watching the center aisle.

        The same pair of guards that had escorted Pietro down into the cells had returned, but this time, they weren't bringing a new prisoner with them. A dark shape was dragged along the floor behind them, sprawled out on its back. Well, not an it. More of a who.

        Pietro and Wanda couldn't make out any details, but Petrokov clearly got a good look at the shape, because his face paled and his eyes widened. The older man sat down hard, massaging his temples with two fingers and biting his lip.

        It hit the twins quickly and without mercy, like a speeding bus. This was a body dump from one of the prisoners who hadn't survived testing. That was a  _dead body._

        Pietro expected the guards to continue walking and go out through the back door, but they stopped at the cell beside his. Everybody watched in silence as the door squeaked open and the two men threw the body in, tossing it to the ground with cruel laughter and locking the door behind them before leaving the blocks and switching the lights off.

        It was then that Pietro was able to get a good look at the person in the cell next to his. The light of the moon filtered in through a window in the back door, three cells to his left, giving him just enough of a glow to make out their features.

        When he finally saw, he wished he hadn't.

        The girl looked like she was younger than him, maybe a year or two his and Wanda's junior. Her  _(h/c)_ hair was pulled back into a pair of messy braids, strands falling all around a pale face. The pallor of her skin looked like death itself; she was as white as a corpse. If Pietro couldn't make out the slight up-and-down motion of her chest, he would have thought her dead.

        The prisoners waited to make sure the guards were no longer within earshot of them before exploding into hushed whispers and questions, all eyes on the girl's motionless body. Petrokov, Damien, and the twins were the only ones who didn't speak.

        "Petrokov," a woman across the room shouted, "is that her? Is that 13?"

        Petrokov didn't reply. Pietro watched his expression carefully; he seemed to be shocked at the girl's appearance. Wide eyes, half-open mouth, raised eyebrows- yep, that was definitely a sign of shock.

        "That's her," Damien murmured. "How the  _hell_ is she alive?! Wait, brown hair, she's alive, right?"

        "She's breathing," Pietro said. "Not much, though... who is she?"

        "Listen, 29, I need you to tell me if she's okay," Petrokov barked from across the cells. "Is the kid breathing or not?!"

        "Yeah, she's breathing! Now tell me who she is!"

        Damien held a hand up to stop the slowly-escalating voices, glancing fearfully at the main door. "You two keep it down or someone's going to come and make you. You're scaring everybody. 29, Petrokov-"

        " _Pietro,_ " Pietro hissed venemously. " _Don't call me a number."_

"Fine, fine. Sorry, man. Petrokov, let's just explain this to the newbies like civilized people do, okay? Stay calm. You don't know what they did to her."

        "Did to  _who?_ " Wanda asked, clearly as confused as her brother. She had crawled out from behind the cot and was carefully watching the girl's limp form, both eyes narrowed. "Can you please tell us what's going on? Who that is? You all look like you know her, and someone called her 13."

        "You're smart," Damien said. "That's good. You'll need that in here. You remember how Petrokov was telling you and your brother about the welcomers, and how we were sure both of them were dead? Yeah, well, I think we were wrong. Because the second one,  _(Y/N)?_ That's her. And I'm honestly not surprised she's alive."

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Active HYDRA Base, Sokovia_ **

         _"Damn."_

Pietro woke up to a whispered curse, a chill still lingering on his arms from his latest nightmare. It was the same as always: eating dinner in his old apartment with his parents and Wanda, watching helplessly as a bombshell flies through a window and explodes, hiding under the bed, and waiting for three days to die. Every time, he and Wanda would lie there for what felt like an eternity before the second bombshell exploded and they were both killed. Every. Damn. Time.

        Someone in the cell beside him moaned and the sound of shifting fabric snapped him out of his half-asleep state. The only person in that cell was the girl,  _(Y/N)_. She wasn't supposed to be awake- according to Damien and Petrokov, she wasn't even supposed to be  _alive._

But when Pietro sat up on his cot and looked over, he realized that he was very much mistaken.

        It was still dark outside and the moon had changed positions, so it was nearly impossible for him to make out anything more than vague shapes. He could see the outline of a dark figure on the stone floor and a bit of movement, but that was it.

        " _What the **hell?** "_

This time, Pietro was unwaveringly certain that the voice had come from the formerly-unconscious girl.  _13._ That was what some of the other prisoners had called her. Petrokov had called her  _(Y/N)_.

        His suspicions were only confirmed when the girl-  _(Y/N)_ \- stirred in the darkness and released an agonized moan, rolling over onto her back. As Pietro's eyes adjusted, he was able to make out more features- a pair of wide  _(e/c)_ eyes, shadowed by dark circles from a lack of sleep, gritted teeth and a set jaw, a drop of dark liquid dripping down her hairline.

        "You... are you okay?" He whispered, crawling over to press his body against the wall of bars that separated the two cells. "You are hurt, yes?"

        "What gave it away?"  _(Y/N)_ asked, her voice edged with pain and annoyance. It was accompanied by a thick Sokovian accent, just like Pietro and Wanda's. 

        "What did they  _do_ to you? Petrokov said you were supposed to be _dead._ "

        "Petrokov's a pessimist. I  _am_ supposed to be dead, but I'm not." She laughed mirthlessly, shaking her head and disrupting the drop of blood in its path. "I sort of wish I was, though."

        "Who's the pessimist?"

        "Ha, ha. Very funny, bud. I'm a realist." A pause. "And I'm baring my soul to a complete stranger. Wow."

        "S-sorry." Pietro watched as  _(Y/N)_ pushed herself up onto the cot and sprawled out over the blankets, one arm hanging over the side and brushing the floor. He didn't know how her personality normally was, seeing as his first conversation with her wasn't exactly going as he had expected, but 'lethargic, angry at life, and in pain' wasn't exactly a legitimate personality type, so he had to assume that  _(Y/N)_ 's pissed-off attitude was coming from whatever HYDRA had done to her.

        "No problem. Can we talk in the morning, please? I'm exhausted. And you don't want to carry out a conversation with me when I'm tired."

        "O-okay, sure, I guess."

        "Great."

        Pietro could practically  _feel_ the smirk in her voice as she slyly muttered, "Maybe then I can put a face to that handsome voice of yours, eh?"

        He fell asleep with the blush still on his cheeks, wondering how they weren't actually generating light from how warm they felt.

⍦ ⍦ ⍦

**_Active HYDRA Facility, Sokovia_ **

They did not talk in the morning. In fact, Pietro only caught a glimpse of  _(Y/N)_ 's braided hair before she was being dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming and cursing like a sailor in a multitude of languages. Petrokov protested, but he was silenced quickly by a fist to the mouth.

        Four hours passed like the passage of a snail. Four hours of tense silence, briefly punctuated by the quiet sobbing of one of the other prisoners or a whispered conversation that Pietro couldn't quite catch wind of, despite the quiet. 

        Wanda didn't say a word. Pietro watched her almost the entire time, trying to get any sense of whether she was alright or not. He couldn't find any emotion from his sister, which was worrisome. Ever since they had been children, they had been connected so closely that they even joked about being telepathic with their parents. She just sat there, huddled in the corner of her cell with her knees pulled up to her chest. Damien tried to get her to talk several times, but she refused to speak or interact with anyone. After several failed attempts, Petrokov told them to just shut up and leave her be.

        "Petrokov..." Pietro said hesitantly, readjusting his position on the threadbare cot so that he could face him. 

        "What, kid?"

        "I'm confused. You said nobody ever came back from the labs, right? That they all died?"

        "Mmm?"

        "But that girl is alive. Very."

        "Yeah, that's right. What's it to you?"

        "Explain, please."

        Petrokov sighed and bit his lip before speaking. "If what you're asking is how? I can't really answer that. I don't know what HYDRA did to 'er or anything, and I don't have any way of finding out. Unless you wanna confront one of them nice men out there, you ain't findin' out, either. And you can trust me there."

        "How do you know they won't tell you?"

        "You think we haven't asked? I caught a fist to the stomach, and Damien over there was even worse. Kid wouldn't shut up. Lip doesn't get you anything in here 'cept a truckload of pain."

        " _(Y/N)_ gave HYDRA plenty of lip."

        "And you saw where that got her. Listen, Pietro, you can't step on any toes in here. You gotta be really careful with these people, because they won't hesitate to shoot you and toss your body in a ditch. It's happened before, and it'll happen again. I don't want it to be you."

        Pietro nodded, his heart sinking almost as heavily as metal in water. He knew HYDRA wouldn't tolerate questions or sass or... well, anything that broke up their routine, but he had to know.  _(Y/N)_ had imprinted on him so deeply that he couldn't get her out of his head, and he didn't want to lose her before he had a chance to actually  _talk_ to her.

        "Piet?" Wanda asked, her voice hoarse from silence. "Don't do anything drastic, okay? Please, just stau on the safe side for once. For me."

        "I... I'll try, Wanda. I'll try."

        "Promise?"

        "Yeah. I promise."

        "Good."

        Pietro winced inwardly. His sister's voice was so full of trust; he had never lied to her so openly before. It hurt more than he thought it would, but he knew she would forgive him eventually. Wanda was that kind of person, however hard it was to admit. He would have to work with her on that later- assuming they survived, of course.

        When the usual duo of guards entered the room to run a routine inventory check, Pietro could feel his fellow prisoners' eyes on him. They were willing him not to do anything stupid, not to get himself killed. Wanda's reproachful, concerned gaze was probably the strongest of all of them.

        So, naturally, Pietro ignored everyone else and did what he did best: antagonize authority and get in trouble for it.

        "So, kevlar one and kevlar two, how much are they paying you? Not enough, right?" He snarked, a half-grin making its way across his pale face. "I'm not surprised. Homicidal maniacs aren't always the best with their employees."

        One of the guards, a man who had been checking the cell locks for any tampering, sent a steely glare through a wall of bars. He stayed silent, but the look in his eyes was enough to make Pietro nervous. But he had already started, and he wasn't about to stop. 

        "You and your buddy got the bad hours, hm? Around the clock shifts. Someone's gotta be the scapegoat, though."

        " _Kid..."_ Petrokov hissed. Pietro ignored him, a skill he was rather proficient in.

        "I mean, your bosses can't be that great. I myself am glad that I got the 'free ride' package in this joint. All I have to do is sit here and sleep. Free food and clothes, free lodging, open air surroundings. Great situation. But you two have to work all day. I bet you gotta pay for room and board, too. Sucks to be you."

        "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The second guard asked, his voice deep and harsh. "Or are you just naturally annoying?"

        "I dunno!" Pietro chirped. "I've been told that I'm pretty obnoxious and everything, but who listens to their teachers? Might just be a talent of mine. You seem to be naturally angry, to be honest."

        "If you're not careful, you won't make it in here long. Do you have a death wish?"        

        "Maybe. Wanda says-"

        "Just shut the hell up already, 29."

        "How does one 'shut the hell up'? I don't think-  _oof."_

One of the guards leaned up against the bars and drove a fist straight into Pietro's solar plexus, knocking the wind straight out of his lungs and sending him crashing to the floor. Wanda stifled a terrified gasp and gripped Damien's hand through the division, trying to stay as calm as she could and keep her temper under control.

        "You think boss would mind if we brought in an extra subject today?" The other guard asked conspiratorilly.

        "I doubt it. Insurance, right? Never hurts."

        "And if it works, we've got two freaks instead of one."

        The bars screeched as the cell door swung in. Each guard took one of Pietro's arms and picked him up off of the floor, dragging him out of the room and leaving a distraught Wanda behind.


End file.
